Wave of a Wand
by freedomgeneration
Summary: Hermione wakes us from a too vivid dream abt Hestia Granger, a great aunt probably a million times over and Darius, who looks too much like Malfoy to be incoincidental. She enlists Malfoy's help as they tumble through time and Love's Lane. chap 3 up
1. Chapter 1

Title: Wave of a Wand

Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable, that's Rowling's. Don't recognize it? It's probably mine.

(This disclaimer serves as a disclaimer for this chapter and any other following chapters of this series.)

Summary:

Hermione wakes up from a dream so vivid that she knows that it was _planned_. She goes on a mad dash that will involve the slightly reluctant, mostly unwanted help of Draco Malfoy whose knowledge of _his _heritage will help her discover the truth of hers.

They travel through time, libraries, and estate mansions following a trail that leads them to discover whose magic had waved a wand that spanned centuries. All their efforts will bring to sharp focus the vague past, and will help their actions in the even vaguer future.

Go along with them and be stringed along by their unwanted attraction, unwanted affection, and definitely wanted, but useless, alienation of each other to discover answers to mysteries and finally, as it was meant to be, love.

Info: slightly AU, with great kicks of magic, slightly adventure, but with an actual plot

Author: princecharmprincesswit

Message: I hope you like it.

Chapter one: Vivid

"Presenting: the Honorable Lady Hestia Granger and the Viscount Lyngate," bellowed the footman clad in the distinctive colors of the Moreland house.

The beautiful lady proceeded to glide gracefully down the curling staircase.

Her dainty feet were clad in silver satin ball shoes. Her delicate limbs were clad in an ice blue empress-cut gown, with dainty cap sleeves showcasing a gorgeous collar bone, trimmed with silver lace. Her slender fingers, hands and arms- up to an inch or two above her elbows- were sheathed in fine white silk gloves. Her modest décolletage was offset by a sparkling sapphire pendant, surrounded by filigree design, strung along her swan neck by a thin silver chain. Her heart shaped face showed delicacy and well, impossible to deny it, haughtiness, framed by glossy hair of a rich brown interwoven with thick gold locks, as if it was ambivalent about making her a delicate Scandinavian goddess, or in making her a sultry siren. Her lips were tiny, full petals, in a pale princess-like pink. Her eyes… well, they were marvelous! They were like her hair, a deep chocolate with flecks of glimmering gold, framed by long dark lashes, about as long as a knight's lancing spear. On her wrist hung a chicken skin fan (all the rage!) with the unique design of the sunset painted on in colors that seemed to fade and recede into each other.

Her companion was no less striking. He was tall and square-jawed, with slightly curling hair just a curious shade above brown, and a shade below gold. The ladies found it enchanting. His gaze was sharp, and if those gold-flecked chocolate gazers looked at you, you'd think "Perdition!" and fall down in a suspiciously graceful heap, along with many other ladies with delicate demeanor around the ballroom. Tonight he was clad in an elegant black and white (men's favored party apparel this season), the tie of his cravat not quite ostentatiously dandyish, but quietly elegant. His Hessian boots gleamed, with all the effort Putnam, his valet, put into polishing it with champagne. The ladies should find him delectable tonight. Hestia has been hearing sighs since the start of the ball.

Hestia looked at her brother, standing at her side and attempting to steer them out of the sea of ladies and gentlemen that gathered around them in the Duke and Duchess' Moreland ballroom. Henry was a wonderful brother, and with their father's passing three years ago, was also a very fine nobleman. Very rich. Obviously very eligible. Hestia thought that he'd make an excellent father with his caring nature. She was very worried for him, for the matchmaking mamas had no care for that. They only cared that he be rich, and had a clean name, and that was that. They shan't care for his smashing sense of humor or his sharp wit. She hoped this London season that he might start and look for suitable females.

Her brother has finally landed anchor, near the French windows that opened to a balcony.

"Henry, is that not our acquaintance? Moncrieff? Is that his sister, Miss Moncrieff at his side?" Hestia asked, gesturing to the two blonds heading their way.

"By Jove! Quite right, Hestia. Though, I must say, I rather thought that you'd have quite forgotten about them. I remember meeting them when you were busy, preparing to go off," Henry replied without any critique.

When they'd met the Moncrieff's, Hestia was packing, getting ready to leave for a school where eccentricities were tolerated, allowed, and promoted. It was a school for magic: Hogwarts School of Magic and Wizardry.

Public institutions were looked down upon by people of their ilk so the Granger family told everyone that Lady Hestia went to finishing school in France. Her parents at first were strongly in objection to her education, saying it was folly. Had her grandmother Helena not intervened, she probably _would've_ been placed in a _real _finishing school to learn sewing and all that… lud! In Hogwarts School, they learned charms, arithmancy, potions and all sorts of things that interest an eccentric like her. Best of all, she was a leading light in those subjects, earning respect from her school mates and teachers alike.

The headmaster, Nicodemus, had once told her to stop thinking of herself as an eccentric that could make things fly, make leaves burn, and dry up ponds. Instead, she should rise above that mentality and think of herself as a witch, a glorious, powerful, and magical female that could control magic for her (or for others') best advantage.

"Oh ha-ha, Henry. We Grangers are sharp, you must know that!" she retorted just as Mauritius Moncrieff and Arabelle Moncrieff reached them.

"Good evening Lyngate, Lady Hestia," greeted Moncrieff. Miss Moncrieff echoed the sentiment.

Some general chitter-chatter was exchanged and Mauritius Moncrieff asked whether Hestia's dancing card was full. Hestia allowed him to sign, and he'd told her that he'd claim her once their set was on. Her brother signed too, on Miss Moncrieff's card.

The evening went on in a whirl of satin, silver, silk, gold, jewelry, laughter, and warmth, fading and receding into each other like the sunset in Hestia's fan. She sought temporary rest in one of the balconies, escaping the gaiety of the ballroom, and into the serenely cool night she slipped. The balcony she has entered was thankfully unoccupied. She gazed around, just to make sure. She lifted up the front of her skirts and fanned madly at her legs, trying in vain to cool off.

"Well, well… Mudblood, I never actually thought we'd come across each other again," came a drawlingly familiar voice suspiciously close to her ear.

Darius Malfoy, she thought, was exactly the devil's spawn, planted on earth for the sole purpose of the torture of muggleborns such as her. They had been schoolmates together, with his as a leader of the muggleborn- haters' club.

She, too, honestly and foolishly thought that they'd cross paths again. Their estates were marvelously close to each other. Their country seats just about two hours by coach apart. But that didn't man that they'd be paying calls to each other. Goodness no!

Darius Malfoy, the ladies at Hogwarts School had said, was one edible piece of sweet-meat. His hair was the color of the deep lake being hit by the sun's rays at night, not that Hestia had seen anything of the like. The lake's reflection would become a pale, silvery glow that made the eyes hungry to see more. His eyes were a lead gray ringed with the pale blue, almost the exact shade of Hestia's ball gown. His face was chiseled as if a Greek sculptor molded it to try and achieve perfection and succeeded. His body, some loose-skirted girls from school had said, was perfection too. But to her he was not such. He was such.. such..

Such pestilence!

He did not hate muggles, she observed. In fact, sometimes, when he chose to smile at one of them, there'd be a genuine twinkle in his eye. She suspected that he only hated muggleborns because they were not in their natural balance. They were only supposed to be mugles but they have disturbed his magical world.

Malfoy would one day come to be Marquess of Blackthorne. As of this moment, he was known as Earl of Sherringford. Sherry to some. Devil Incarnate to her. She, as a viscount's sister, was way lower on the echelon than he, but he did not deserve the time of day, so she did not feel the need for a display of grand decorum; she did not lower her skirts (though, if others were to see them, a huge scandal would break out, worse than Professor Folia's puss inducing fruits), nor turn around (though it was a huge disrespect in society's ladder).

"Malfoy, you are dismissed," she said in the haughtiest voice possible.

"I was under the illusion, my lady, that you'd have come to miss me," he said- still in that infuriating upper-class _drawl_, a drawl that she, too, possessed.

"Like the way you've come to miss me?" she parried.

"What I missed was putting you in your right place, and I see now that the seven years I've wasted on you needs more time for lessons in the society echelon," nodding his head to her scandalously raised skirts.

"Excuse me, Malfoy, I need to see some good people," she said haughtily.

"You are already in the presence of the best," he said with a look of conviction that almost made her want to believe him.

It was a good thing, then, (Hestia thought) that she knew better.

"If by that you meant the presence of the _beast_, then I agree," the graceful pile of hair on top of her head was slightly quivering, Malfoy noted with amusement.

She put her skirts down, and turned on her heel to exit, only to find him leaning over her, a sparkle of what Hestia thought as amusement (but chose, nonetheless, to ignore) in his wickedly delicious eyes.

"You haven't changed a bit," Malfoy stated simply, and allowed her to pass.

She passed him by with barely a shoulder's brush.

She burned inside, with fury at remembering all the things he's said in the past and that "You haven't changed a bit." Who says those things anyway? It was scandalous!

She too, burned inside with shame. Because part of her had truly missed him. A part of her had truly wanted to match wits, and fight.

She entered the swirling colors of the sunset that was the ballroom, leaving the tall, broad-shouldered pestilence-on-earth alone on the balcony.

On that hazy mix of colors, Hermione Granger, the current Honorable Lady Granger, snapped awake in her four poster bed in Hogwarts, in present time, in the Heads' Dormitory. She half expected to see that lady who looked so much like her to float out of the floor or flit through the wall to waltz with her.

Her eyes were still swimming with color, notwithstanding the fact that morning light bathed her face through the open curtains. What an unusual dream. There have been family folklore about eccentric aunts, and this dream, silly as it may seem, might just be a key to that.

She padded to the bathroom that she shared with the Head Boy on bare feet, in over-sized dopey Tigger twin set pajamas (that she secretly thought was cute), hoping the cold floors would put her back on earth.

Upon finding the door locked:

"Malfoy, you arse, hurry up!" she yelled to the current Earl of Sherringford.

"Your time will come, Granger. Maybe just a little later," said arse called back.

Hermione could practically _feel_ the smirk _blooming_ on his face- a face that looked very much alike to the one in her dream.

Her fellow head was- yes, indeed- Draco Malfoy.

As she thought of all the hexes, curses, and charms that'll cause Malfoy harm, she thought, too, of Darius Malfoy and Hestia Granger and how they were connected to each other and to her. She knew that that dream wasn't just _coincidence_.

Dreams so vivid like that never are.

It had a strong _scent_ of magic and that unmistakable _glimmer_ around the edges.

Now, if only Malfoy would start shimmying his undoubtedly taut arse about.

End of chapter one

I hope you like it. Please review. Thanks!


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Wave of a Wand

Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable, that's Rowling's. Don't recognize it? It's probably mine.

(This disclaimer serves as a disclaimer for this chapter and any other following chapters of this series.)

Author: princecharmprincesswit

Message: I hope you like it.

Chapter two: Malfoy's Arse— A Distracted Harry—Ron's Find

Malfoy finally found the time to come out of the bath. His undoubtedly tight arse encased in the most wonderfully fitting pair of gray trousers ever made, handmade or magical. The creases were pin-bullet straight. At the end of the day, his trousers wouldn't look used; instead they still looked as if Malfoy had just put them on.

His crisp white shirt was neatly tucked in, molding to a sculpted torso. It was obvious that the shirt was bespoke. The cuffs were fastened with what Hermione thought looked too much alike to genuine silver. The cuff links were shaped like a curling snake, encircled by a silver ring. To Hermione, the choice was perfect—Malfoy is such a snake!

His green and silver striped tie was loosely tied, his fingers worrying the knot. His pale, wonderfully cut hair showcased his gorgeous face (all planes, and smooth skin, and beautiful lips). He had a _darned_ smirk on those lovely lips of his, putting Hermione off of his gorgeousness.

Hermione who was dancing with annoyance, pushed him out of the way, and slammed the door. She _swears_ she heard him laugh. Ha!

As she scrubbed (furiously) at her skin, she thought some more about Hestia and Darius. Oh blah! She admits she is excited, but she still has classes and she needs to concentrate.

As she rinsed herself from head to toe, she thought that she might have breakfast. A chat with Harry and Ron will set her to rights. As she toweled herself dry, her thoughts inevitably strayed to Hestia and Darius again. She could almost bang her head on the door with annoyance.

The dream was haunting her, the way she imagined Hestia floating through the floor. She stepped out of the bath, her hair in a turban, letting her thoughts float to The Mysterious Two.

She padded over to her bureau, and got out her clothes. She put on some perfume, a scent of vanilla beans, cinnamon, and mint. The scent has been specially made for her ever since her childhood. Whenever she runs out of it, her parents send her a new bottle.

She slathered on some clean-smelling lotion, and moisturized her face. Her parents don't just send her to an expensive dermatologist for nothing.

She slipped on some underwear. She decided that today would be Comfortable Cotton day. On days like this, she would use clean white cotton sets. She has other sets of underwear, ranging from silk to satin, cotton to canvas covered, from La Perla to its magical equivalent Nox, to Victoria's Secret, to Marks and Spencer to Walker, to Hanes.

She buttoned her blouse (as crisp as Malfoy's), and pulled on her skirt which was knee length. Last summer, she had changed her couturier. Her new outfitter was Mme de la Ostrusce, one of the most celebrated in London. Her clothes fit beautifully. Her uniform fitted nicely. It was snug (not too much as to give an impression of promiscuity) with clean lines (very neat and professional-looking), and elegant (not extravagant, but everything of the finest quality).

She had a whole set of clothes made by Mme de la Ostrusce. She now had closetful of dresses ranging from summer to winter with appropriate cut and color. She had a pale pink dress, made of chiffon, for spring brunches. She had a playful plum cocktail dress, with a turtleneck and ¾ sleeves, ending just above the knees for elegance that evening parties needed. She had blacks to whites, greens to reds. She has never enjoyed her wardrobe more.

She pulled on the knee socks that Mme de la Ostruce suggested she try. It was a more expensive brand, but more satisfactory. It made her legs seem slim, long and elegant, not stubby. Plus it kept her warm.

She put her feet into the Coach shoes she bought. It was from a range called "Insensible Sally Pumps". They didn't look sturdy, but they were. They looked graceful and light, and they were. For Hermione, they were the shoes with the most perfect form and body.

She fastened her cravat, her cuffs, pulled off the turban and cast a drying spell on her hair. It had smoothed out over the years and now fell in silky curls, the envy of every girl. It too, was interwoven with gold and brown, like Hestia's. She snatched it up into a bun, and pulled on a freshly pressed robe. The robe was made by Mme de la Ostrusce. Unbeknownst to the whole muggle world, Mme de la Ostrusce was a witch of the highest order, and her "workforce", was nothing but her own magic controlling scissors and pins, needles and threads.

She leisurely went out of the bath and went to her room. She snatched up her Burberry book bag, made a last scan of the room, and went out the door. She strolled to the sitting room. It was empty. Perhaps Malfoy had gone to breakfast. She decided to go there too, so she could catch up with Ron and Harry.

She arrived at the Great Hall and found Ron shoveling his face with porridge. The Great Hall was still abuzz, with students chatting and laughing. Some faces, Hermione noticed, were buried into warm porridge bowls. She also noticed the gleaming platinum hair of the Head Boy. She paid him no mind, like he did her.

"Hello, Ronald, Harry, Ginny."

"Lo', 'Mione," (she assumed) was said around a few mouthfuls of syrup and porridge.

"Hello, Hermione. Well?" Ginny asked with a look. It was in connection to Hermione's telling her of the hottest new rumor of Lavender Brown _going out_ with Theodore Nott. Hermione hadn't told her yet, but was planning to.

"Hello, Hermione!" greeted a distracted Harry cheerfully. His eyes seemed to be diverted to somewhere along the Hufflepuff Table.

As Ginny was seated next to her, she leaned down and whispered the gossip to Ginny's eager ear.

"That's all!" Ginny gasped. "I heard that they were already planning an _engagement party_!" she boasted.

"Oh, really? When? Do you think, Ginny, that we shall be invited?" continued Hermione.

Breakfast ended, full of new information, a distracted Harry, a disgusting Ron, an informative Ginny, and a disbelieving Hermione.

Ginny went off with her sixth year friends for their classes as the gang bid their farewells.

"See you later Ginny!"

"'Bye Gin!"

"You stay away from that Cottars boy, you hear me, Gin?"

That remark was replied by a: "Well who do you think you are Ronald Bilius Weasley, to order me about!"

They soon proceeded to their classrooms with a fuming, red-faced Ron, and a still distracted Harry.

In charms class, Harry asked her,

"Hermione, what are blittermaggots?"

"Pardon, Harry?" Hermione asked him, looking at him oddly.

"I dare say! Are you all right, mate?" Ron said with a chuckle.

"'Course I am! I just asked…," he grumbled.

The class pretty much continued that way. After they had lunch, Gryffindors had a free period, so Hermione said some excuse to Ron and Harry before scurrying off to the Heads Dorms.

-*-

Ron left a brooding Harry alone in the commons, to enjoy a quick fly in the pitch. He invited Harry, but the boy was distracted. Ron and Hermione had asked him plenty of timea but he won't tell what's bothering him.

The weather was perfect for quidditch. The skies were clear, the wind cool, and the sun bright. He slung his leg around the gift his parents had given him, a Firefly Shooter, one of the newest.

His father was now Minister of Magic, and on his salary alone, a million improvements could have been made to the household, but was not. The roof was fixed better, and that was about it. His mother insists that the house is still in its best shape. He heard though, that she had plans to add on another wing, a sitting room equipped with baby paraphernalia. She's been saying that her married Weasley boys should come more often and visit, and bring the kids with them. He wondered how Bill and Fleur would react.

He was high up in the air already, and saw a struggling body from the astronomy Tower's edge. He flew quick and fast, the wind nearly freezing his nose and ears off.

"What the bloody hell are you doing up there?" he shouted. He could see a slim body, dark hair, and pale skin exposed by her disheveled uniform.

"What the effin' hell does it look like I'm doing?" she screamed back, struggling with her grip.

"Do I look like I'm having an al fresco!" she continued, in a voice that sent funny, warm tingles to his spine.

"Help me, you blasted idiot!" she screeched to a degree that made Ron think she was part banshee.

After years of quidditch, Ron was built and quick. He went fast about landing on the Astronomy Tower and reached for the elegant hands. He tugged and pulled, until a soft feminine body was in his arms.

"What were you doing there?" he asked breathlessly. It wasn't easy rescuing any girl from the Astronomy Tower.

"I was hanging, obviously. Now let go, bastard." That was quite wrong, coming from such pretty lips.

"Why?" He wasn't entirely sure of what question to ask, why she was hanging, or why he should let her go.

"Because I threw a hex at my blasted, soon-to-be-dead, ex-boyfriend, that's why."

Ron picked up his broom, and as the girl was in no hurry to leave, went to her side and, together they walked down the tower.

He drew out her story. She said that she'd seen her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend snogging another bubblegum-girl. She threw a hex at him so intensely that she flew to the edge. The cowardly ex didn't see her because he was so busy fleeing with Bubbles. She'd been hanging for only about 3 minutes and was very relieved that he arrived. Ron notice that she didn't say 'thankful' only relieved.

On that point, he noticed her wearing the Slytherin colors. He somehow found that the Hogwarts uniform looked so much _better_ on her than any other girls' did.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't quite catch you name," he said.

"I know you're Ronald Weasley, unless that hair is dyed, which it can't possibly be-- it could be seen miles away." Not to mention your ocean-blue eyes which I could swim in, she thought. She didn't dare voice it out loud.

"And I, I am Pansy Parkinson," continued that pleasantly feminine, yet extremely rude voice.

Ron hoped she didn't hear him choke.

End of chapter two

I hope you like it. Please review!


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Wave of a Wand

Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable, that's Rowling's. Don't recognize it? It's probably mine.

(This disclaimer serves as a disclaimer for this chapter and any other following chapters of this series.)

Author: princecharmprincesswit

Message: I hope you like it.

Chapter three: Answers – Hypnotized-- Custarixum

Hermione flew to the Heads' Dormitories. She had to see if Malfoy was there. She decided that since there was no work to be done (read: schoolwork), she was going to search for answers.

She thought that the library might be the best source for the Malfoy family tree, but the Wizarding Book of Genealogy won't be as precise as Malfoy's personal genealogy book. She decided to search his books first.

She'll have 'The Complete Granger Genealogical Information' sent to Hogwarts by her parents. As far as she knew, the book was updated annually, whether or not there were any new additions to the family. She knew that the editors, whoever they were, updated the achievements and all stuff like that. She'll owl her parents this evening.

She reached their portrait and said the password (Patler's World Famous Gunpowder). Their portrait showed a haughty, dark-haired lady in rather revealing nightwear of the 1800's sitting in her boudoir. In her hand was a silver-backed brush and on her shoulder was a hand. The hand belonged to a fair-headed man who was probably her husband.

She closed the portrait-door softly. She hoped to Nicholas Flamel that Malfoy wasn't home. For the last few months that she has been living here, she has thought of it as _home_, hands down.

She slipped her pumps off her feet and held them; she let her book bag fall softly, _so softly_ to the floor. She tiptoed to their receiving room cum parlor, which opened to their kitchen. She looked around.

"What are you doing, Granger," was said by a deeply pleasant voice, nearly sending her flying out of her skin.

It was stated, not asked. It was also tinged with amusement, like the one which you feel when seeing a _dog_ shaking it fur after bathing, or a cat playing with a ball of yarn.

He was propped in the connecting doorjamb, a glass of water in his hand, his shirt loosened, his shoes on.

She felt herself prickle at his annoying presence.

"Malfoy," was replied very curtly.

"I repeat, _what are you doing_?" ah—that was better, more like a question.

"What I am doing," Hermione can't help but be annoyed at his _presence_—shouldn't he be with his mates or something?--

"is not any of your concern, if at all. Excuse me," she said rudely, practically _stomping_ to her room upstairs.

'Why is he here?' she thought. 'Can't he be like Ron, or Harry who enjoy weather outside? Not spending time inside like a bloody lurking ghost!'

She plopped to her bed, her heart deeply annoyed, but her plans not withering. She was going to the library, she decided, after she fixed herself.

She padded with her socks to the Heads' shared bathroom, which was connected to their rooms by a door each. She repaired her even-messier-messy bun after washing her face. She put on some lip balm. She walked through a thin curtain of "The Diaphanous Cloud," by Raquelle, which smelled heavenly. She stepped into her pumps and decided to write the letter to her parents now.

She sat down at her escritoire, in her own private study. The study was a cozy affair of creams, beiges, browns, deep greens and burgundy. She wrote her letter.

It read: (in what Hermione knew as neat handwriting, her parents described it as typewritten, elegant)

Dearest Mother and Father,

How are we? I have missed you. How is that little monster, Hex? Send him my love. I believe Geneva is nice this time of the year, I remember our trip the last time. Will you take Hex with you? I think he'll enjoy it very much. Those seminars you attend are getting classier by the minute.

I have one tiny favor to ask of you both. Do you remember, Father, the book we have? I reckon it's called: 'The Complete Granger Genealogical Information'. I believe it is in the Library at Lyngate House. Will you please have it sent to me at school? I shall appreciate it very much.

Mother, can you please send me Hex's most recent pictures? I miss him terribly. Last time, when we went fishing on the Lyngate Lake, he told me his ambition was to grow. I asked him if he wanted to grow wide or high. He threw me a pebble; I think I still have a lump on my leg. Kidding! Please have him write a letter to me.

Well, I have to end a letter sometime. I love you Ma, Da! I miss you and Hex. Send the ghoul my love! (Kiss and hug him for me, too.) Good luck and have fun in Geneva.

Love,

Your daughter, H. E. Granger.

P.S.: Please send the book immediately. Thank you.

She did miss her parents and brother terribly. Viscount Henry and Lady Amelia Granger were going to a dentists' seminar later on in the month in Geneva.

She hoped that they'll take Henrix Alexander (The Ghoul) Granger with them. Through all the teasing she gave her brother, she loved him and he loved her and that was that.

She folded her parchment and put it into her robe's pocket. She stepped out of her room, and with a more advanced locking spell (_locinte_), shut her door. She made sure to do the same to her connecting door to the bath.

It helps to be safer when you're around a Slytherin, not to mention a Malfoy.

She went down the curling staircase and strolled to the parlor. She picked her book bag up sent a _barely_ civil nod to a lounging Malfoy who was sprawled on the couch and smirking at her, his shirt hugging the wonderful dip and contour of his body, hands behind his head and hair falling attractively to his eyes.

She frowned.

She knew that Malfoy must have his own personal study, too. In it, he must have placed his personal books. She figured that if he were as proud of his lineage as seemed to be, he must have a book about it. But since he was at their dorms, she can't just waltz into his room and browse through his personal collection_, can she_?

She quickened her pace to the library. She'll look for her answers in the trusty Hogwarts' Library, instead.

-*-

Harry was left all alone in the Gryffindor commons. The thoughts plaguing his mind were of a certain smile and wheat-colored hair. The face it surrounded was Luna Lovegood's.

_He has fallen for a loony_. Although he has decided that he loved Luna, he can't help but admit she was loony. Still, her being bonkers didn't put him off in the least.

Luna has this hypnotizing quality; her wide eyes are always curious and lovely.

His main problem now was: how will Luna grow to love him back?

Luna was a lovely witch and other people are stupid not to know that.

Harry buried his firm arse deeper into the red bean bag and looked at the ceiling. He wondered what would happen if…

"Fine day, isn't it, Luna?" he'd ask as he leads her down the stone walkway to the Great Lake.

"Indeed, Harry," she'd answer in her ethereal voice, her face glowing.

As they reach the lake's edge, Harry would kneel, look into her eyes and tell her:

"Luna, I love you, will you marry me?" and offer her a brilliant ring.

Luna would say "Why, yes, Harry," in a floating voice.

Harry would hug her, and soon kiss her and ravish her on the spot.

He grinned at the thought.

But he thought of what would happen if he were to do it now.

He would take her hand and lead her to the Great Lake, where the Squid could be seen splashing from here. He decided that they wouldn't come too near the lake because Luna might get wet by the splashes.

He'd look into her eyes and take her hands and she'd say:

"Are these the blittermaggots you wished to show me, Harry?"

He'd stutter a 'no' and get down on his knees. Luna would say:

"Are the housefaeries crippling you?"

He'd say: "Luna, will you marry me?" it would come out too quick and Luna'd say:

"Harry, you should have some of the Custarixum I've made. It's a potion that cures all sorts of oddness."

There goes the brilliant diamond ring in his dreams. When he presented it to her (in his dream) she'd probably say:

"Harry, hide that! The crumarras are attracted to things that sparkle; they might fly off with you!"

And as for kissing her and ravishing her, there would probably be too many guffawing on-lookers to leave them even a thatch of grass on the ground.

The thoughts made Harry frown deeper.

_O! How could he have possibly fallen for a loony?_

End of chapter three

Hope you like it! Please Review!

I'm trying for a little HG/DM interaction soon, and maybe some action for Ginny too.

I hope you see a body in this because I have one already made. Stick around!

Cheers!

-princecharmprincesswit


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